The Healing Hands of the King
by LizClaiborne
Summary: Post RotK. Legolas is killed in the last battle, and the king of Gondor embarks on a quest to save his fallen friend.
1. Chapter 1

_Disclaimer: It's not mine, it's not mine. Tolkien gets it all. I'm just another one of those LotR junkies. _

* * *

There was a sickening thud and then a lifeless body dropped unconsciously onto the ground. The last army of orcs seemed to be fading away under the restrengthened army of Gondor. 

Even as the last foul creature made to creep away, the steward pierced its heart with an arrow, his aim deadly on its target.

Glancing about, the king Elessar took note of the amount of Gondorian soldiers slain. They were not great in comparison to the carcasses of orcs that littered the fair streets of the city. He would estimate 200 at the most. 200 of his brave men had died to put the world at peace.

It was now five months after the War of the Ring. Aragorn had been crowned king of Gondor, and Eomer now sat on the throne of Rohan. Faramir and the lady Eowyn were to be wedded in the fall. Gimli had been working hard on restructing the damaged parts of Minas Tirith. Now that the last orc had perished, all was well.

"My lord Aragorn," Faramir came before his king. "Shall we give out the call for the healers. Many are wounded and we have lost twelve score to death." He looked stricken, as though the fault was his own.

Elessar nodded. "Very well, Faramir." He placed a hand on the shoulder of his steward. "Do not lay the blame on yourself."

The younger man let out his breath harshly. "Boromir would not--"

"Boromir is not here. He is in a better place, somewhere free of war and fear and despair. Your time is now to serve your kingdom as best you can."

"Yes, your highness. Of course, your highness." Then with a formal bow, the fair-haired man disappeared.

With a sigh, Elessar turned to make for the Houses of Healing. Denethor's ghost still haunted his steward, no doubt.

When he had reached the uppermost ring of the city, he could see several healers at work bringing in the wounded. Entering through the doors leading into the healing houses, he approached a scullery maid who was tearing blankets into strips.

"Pardon me, my lady. Do you know the account of men wounded?"

She shook her head. "Nay, my lord." She motioned to the archway leading into the main room. "You could ask the mistress, though."

He nodded to her gratefully, and followed her direction, finding himself in a room of quickly working healers.

"Where is the head mistress?" he asked a man who was bandaging the head of an unconscious soldier.

"Over there." The man nodded to the left. "The lady Arwen."

Pausing, Aragorn turned to see his wife, three months with child, caring for two younger children, who, it seemed, had been caught in the midst of the battle.

"Arwen." He approached her.

She looked up and favored him with a smile. "Estel?"

"My love, what are you doing here? Should you not be resting?"

She saw the way he was eyeing her hardly protruding stomach, and she smiled. "I am the head mistress of the Houses of Healing," she said gently, while wrapping strips of cloth around the young girl's arm. "You cannot expect me to lie in bed all day after there has been a battle."

The king sighed, and knew he was being overly protective. "Very well, love." Then, remembering his initial question, he cleared his throat. "Do you know the count of wounded men?"

At this her eyes clouded over. "They have not all yet been accounted for." Kissing the child on her head, the queen motioned for her to lie on the bed. "We tally them as they come in. So far there are over five hundred seriously wounded. No one has come out of this battle unscathed, though." She eyed the long scratch across his face, that matted a couple locks of his hair with blood.

"It is nothing," he promised. "I--"

"Lord Aragorn!"

The royal couple turned and Aragorn saw Faramir hurrying to them, a limp body in his arms. "Lord Aragorn, he is wounded but still breathing, though we cannot rouse him."

A grey cloak was wrapped around the lithe body, but one flash of flaxen hair told him who is was.

"Legolas." He breathed, taking the body from his steward. Glancing down, he saw that his friend's lips were pale and skin waxy.

"Call for Ioreth," he ordered. "We must take him to a room to look at his wounds."

Faramir sprinted away to fulfill his lord's order and Aragorn carried the elf into the unused rooms, laying him carefully down on the bed and taking out a dagger to cut open his bloodied shirt.

The healer Ioreth appeared, followed by the oldest healer of the city, Celond. Two servants came behind them, carrying tools and supplies.

"Let us see to him." Celond and Aragorn lifted him to peel away his shirt, and the king was mortified to see his stomach and chest painted with blood.

An ugly wound was carved deep into the left side of his lower belly, the tissue seeping forth and drenched in blood.

"We must first stop the bleeding," Celond announced. "And put something on his head." It had been covered by hair before, but Aragorn could now see the large gash on the side of the elf's forehead.

"Close the door," he ordered to one of the servants, then came to sit beside the bed and hold his friend's cold hand between two of his warmer ones.

After cleaning away most of the blood, Ioreth had placed herbs wrapped in a wet rag over his forehead. "He'll have a concussion, no doubt," she had confirmed grimly.

Celond could not seem to stop the bleeding of the lower wound, however, and finally he turned to the king. "He must have a piece of the blade embedded inside him, or else the bleeding would have stopped by now. We will have to perform surgery to take it out."

The king nodded, and then saw light lashes flutter before blue eyes opened slowly and parched lips opened to gasp in a breath.

"Legolas." He took the elf's hand as he knelt by the bed. "How are you faring, mellon-nin?"

"Estel..." the elf spoke with difficulty, and now the king noticed blood-specked foam in the corners of his mouth.

"Where does it hurt? Tell me where it hurts."

"There... there is a pain on my left side... and on my forehead. I-I cannot move my right arm..."

The healers immediately began attending to his limb, searching for signs that might be causing him pain.

"It is broken," Celond affirmed.

"Legolas," Aragorn wiped a strand of golden hair from the elf's sweaty brow. "We will need you to take something for the pain. The healers must perform an operation to remove the blade from your side."

Legolas shook his head. "I want... I want no medicine, Estel."

"But Legol--"

"Please, Estel." The elf gasped. "It is not the way of my people."

With a grim sigh, the king nodded. "Very well, my friend. We shall do it as you wish," he promised, and the elf nodded.

"Hannon lle, Estel."

The healers had laid out their tools and were ready to perform the operation.

"My lord King," Celond spoke. "We'll have to ask you to leave."

Aragorn nodded and squeezed his friend's hand softly.

The door shut behind him and locked.


	2. Chapter 2

_Disclaimer: See first chapter._

* * *

The sun was disappearing behind the Fields of the Pelenor when at last Celond and Ioreth appeared before the king, who sat on a stone bench outside the door. 

"Yes?" Aragorn asked, willing away the butterflies that crashed about inside him.

Celond did not look pleased. "The operation was long and hard, and he was awake through it all, your highness. He refused to be drugged, even in the midst of the surgery."

The king felt his stomach tighten in anxiety. "Were you able to remove the blade?"

"Yes, your lordship. It is removed. And larger than we expected." The two healers exchanged a glance. "We think mayhaps it has punctured a lung, for his breathing is becoming more difficult as we speak and he doesn't seem to respo--"

Elessar pushed them both aside and flung open the door of the room. He strode across the floor to the bandaged figure lying in the bed and dropped to his knees, reaching for the unbroken arm and grasping his hand.

"Legolas. Mellon-nin, speak to me."

The elf turned, and the king winced at the swollen bloodied bruise on the prince's forehead. "Estel?" The blue eyes were glazed over and clouded with confusion.

"Yes, it is I."

The elf swallowed and continued to stare at him, unblinking. "The healers tell me I have wounded a vital organ."

"No mellon-nin," Aragorn growled, casting an unimpressed glare in the direction of the door. "You have suffered a grave injury, but they were able to remove the blade and now you will heal."

The elf shook his head. "Estel, _Heruamin_, forgive me that I failed you."

"Legolas," Aragorn snarled in frustration. "Now is not the time for sorrowful apologies."

"Please, listen to me." The elf turned darkening eyes on his friend. "Forgive me for that time at Rivendell when we fought over who was the greater warrior."

"Legolas, that was _sixty-three_ years ago! Surely you cannot think I have not forgiven you?"

The elf continued as if he had not heard. "Forgive me for letting Gandalf fall in the mines." His eyes closed. "Forgive me for not protecting Boromir."

The king shook his head. "Boromir was nothing to me. You mu--"

"Do not lie, Estel. I saw it in your eyes. You bore love for the young son of the steward when he was but a child and you the great captain Thorongil. Always, though he and you fought often, always you were proud that he would someday be your steward. And then..." Here the elf stopped in a coughing fit, and Aragorn was alarmed to see red liquid between his friend's teeth.

"Forgive me for doubting your word at Helm's Deep when we were faced with an army of Uruk-hai too strong for us to face."

"I thought we had--"

"Forgive me for not protecting you from the cave troll at the battle by the Black Gates."

Aragorn's brow furrowed in confusion.

"Forgive me for wanting what I could not have." Here a hand came up and cupped the king's face. "Forgive me for loving you. _Astalder_." Blue eyes fluttered shut. "Amin hiraetha, mellon-nin. Namarie."

For a long moment, the king was silent, holding the lifeless body in his arms, not realizing that he had climbed onto the bed, and now clutched his friend in an embrace.

"_Legolas_?" the word was hissed through clenched teeth, for even as he spoke he knew it was to no avail. Pressing fingers against the pulsepoint of his neck, his wrist, he began to tremble with fear.

He unsheathed the small knife at his waist and held it above the elf's lips, only to pull it away and find it clear, free from breath. Free from life.

Then the tears fell, and Aragorn seemed as though in a trance, in a dream of neverending pain. It had happened so quickly, he had not had time to speak the things of his heart. That so many things from the past had been troubling his friend weighed upon him greatly.

A choked sob erupted from his throat, and even as he heard it, he wondered for a moment who it was. Faintly he could hear heavy footsteps tromping in the direction of the room.

Gimli.

No. He could not, would not let the dwarf see his best friend as he was now. But the door burst open and in strode the short bearded creature, who dropped his axe and after taking one look at Aragorn and what he held began to bawl out in terrified grief.

"Let me hold him!" he demanded, and the king handed the body over to his friend. The dwarf wept, much as he had at the tomb of Balin, though Aragorn saw he was surprisingly gentle as he handled the elf.

Aragorn turned and saw that people had begun to gather in the doorway. "Get out." He ordered.

Upon hearing the door slam, he began to quake. Then he turned and fled the room, mounted his horse and fled the citadel, fled his city, fled everything that he loved.

**Translations:**

Mellon-nin - My friend

Heruamin - My lord

Astalder - Valiant one

Amin hiraetha - I'm sorry.

Namarie - Farewell.

**Translations from chapter 1:**

Mellon-nin - My friend

Hannon lle - Thank you


	3. Chapter 3

_Disclaimer: See first chapter.  
_

* * *

_What am I doing?_ The king glanced about at his surroundings. He was in the forest, it was getting dark, and he was propped against the side of a tree, his horse grazing not ten yards away. 

He had wept and fled, and then wept again, and finally was relieved by sleep for a couple hours. It was getting late.

"I should return," he spoke to the air around him, his voice sounding brittle and flat, like it would shatter and fall to pieces at any moment.

His eyes were a little sore from weeping, but sleep had remedied his grief to an extent, as had the calmness of the familiar forest surroundings.

He stood, and called for his horse. "Come, Brego."

* * *

"Some of the townspeople report seeing him riding from the city sometime earlier. Around dusk." 

The queen nodded. "Very well, Faramir. Do they know in what direction he was headed?"

"I'm afraid not." There was a pause, and then-- "Shall we send out the soldiers to go look for him?"

"Estel will return when he is ready. Until then, you and I will have to do what we can in his absence."

The steward nodded. "Very well."

"Thank you."

The steward stood a little unsurely. He knew the queen had not yet heard the news of the prince's death, but he did not want to be the one to tell her.

"Is that all, then?" he asked.

"Yes." She rose from her chair and accepted his kiss on her hand, nodding in response to his formal bow.

When Faramir had left, and she was alone in the room, Arwen made her way through the chambers belonging to the king and herself until she came to the bedroom, where the blankets on the the bed had been turned down for her retirement by her two maidservants.

"Adyl, Mirah, that will be all."

The young girls nodded gratefully, gave their respective bows, and hurried away to return to their families before the night got any later.

Arwen turned and glanced the intricately designed bedframe. It was carved from rosewood, and stained a lovely dark brown. The headframe was elven, something Aragorn had wanted specially for her. Gold and maroon sheets and coverlets adorned the mattress, four or five layers of thick velvets and silks.

However elaborate the bed may have been, it looked cold and empty under the prospect that she would be sleeping alone.

She took one of her husbands shirts from the wardrobe and began unlacing the ties of her outer dress.

The great double doors opened a couple rooms away, and she recognized the footsteps even before her husband entered the bedroom and came up behind her.

She turned to face him, lacings forgotten. "Estel?"

He approached her and then sunk to his knees, bringing his arms up to wrap around her waist as he pressed his head to her abdomen. "Forgive me, melethron," he breathed.

She stroked a hand through his hair, sensing his troubles. "What ails you, love?"

A harsh sigh was his reply, and a moment later he turned his head to meet her eyes. She was startled at the crystal tears that brimmed in the magnificent grey orbs.

"My love?" Worried, she took his hands in her own and sunk to her knees in front of him.

Her husband took a shaky breath, and his eyes closed against the pain. When at last he spoke, it came out as a ragged whisper. "He... " Aragorn swallowed. "He has fallen into shadow."

"Who?" Concern tightened her chest as she held his face in her hands, stroking hair away from his eyes. "Who, love?"

His eyes opened, and a tear escaped and splashed onto his cheek. "Le..." Then his voice cracked, and the king of Gondor cracked with it. Arwen held the shaking man close to her breast like she would have a weeping child. "Melda? Estel, meleth-nin. Who?"

"Leg- olas!" he hiccuped.

The queen sucked in her breath sharply. Her husbands sobs rang in her ears, and knives ripped mercilessly at her heart, but she could not mourn yet, for she had to be strong for her king. Yes. Strong for my king. She placed both arms around his larger frame and him rocked gently back and forth.

Only one tear fell from her sapphire eyes and landed on the crown of his head.


	4. Chapter 4

_Disclaimer: See first chapter._

* * *

It was with loving eyes that the queen of Gondor regarded her sleeping husband. He had at last fallen asleep at a late hour, and now the night was in full glory, the creatures of the dark had come out to perform their symphony: crickets, frogs, trumpetsters and the nightingales alike. 

There was no Isil that night -- how fitting, she thought, to honor the death of the prince. Aragorn had been restless when they had retired together, what would he tell King Thuranduil; what would he tell the people of Mirkwood? How could he explain that the heir to their throne had been killed under his own watch?

Ah, Lasse, such a time to leave us. Arwen sighed and stroked a sweaty strand of hair away from Aragorn's damp face. She lay on her side next to his still form, watching his chest rise and fall as he breathed. Legolas, the time for war and mourning and grief ended when the ring was destroyed, could you not have stayed to live in the times of peace with the rest of us?

Aragorn murmured in his sleep and rolled over to face her. As he did, the Evenstar pendant he wore slid on its chain and bumped against his bare chest.

Arwen reached out a finger and trailed it along the glistening jewels. The king's eyelashes fluttered and then sleepy grey eyes looked up at her questioningly. "Mani nae lle umien?" his voice was gravelly with slumber, and he lifted a hand to her lovely face and caressed her cheek. "Staying awake all night?"

She shook her head. "I cannot sleep, Estel." Arwen tugged at the corner of the nightshirt she wore, and he noticed that is was one of his own. "Something sways my mind, something is not at peace."

"Undomiel..." he sighed, closing his eyes and pulling her against his chest. "Please, do not let Lasse's death let you fade. Do not pull away from me, beloved."

"No." She touched his face and he opened his eyes to look at her. "It is not something of grief that I speak of." Here she paused before continuing, and her eyes narrowed slightly. "You forget I can read your mind, Estel-nin. What have you been plotting?"

"I... Arwen, meleth-nin." His moved to kiss her forehead. "I would fight the very Valar to bring him back. Even though I know he would not wish it."

They rested against each other, peaceful in the reverie of their bed, her head tucked comfortably under his chin and his arms about her waist, cradling her rounded stomach against his abdomen.

And as Arwen thought intently over the memory that bubbled in the back of her mind, the king almost drifted off to sleep again.

"I have an idea." She said very suddenly, causing him to jump a little with surprise.

"What, pray tell, is that?" he asked.

"Come with me." She pulled out of his embrace and took the candle in its stand from the table next to the bed.

He stared at her from his relaxed position on the bed. "Arwen, it's late. And you should be resting. Can it not wait until dawn?"

"Nay Estel. I believe you are being lazy." She smiled at him. "No, honestly it is serious, something that would interest you greatly." Reaching out a hand for him, she tried again. "Come."

Smiling back, he took her smaller hand and stood.

* * *

**Translations:**

Isil - Moon

Mani nae lle umien? - What have you been doing?

Estel-nin - My Estel.

Meleth-nin - My love.

* * *

_I'm so sorry that this chapter is such a short one! I promise the next one will be longer. And I'm planning to update soon, just got to give the next chapter to my beta-reader first. :)  
_


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